


It's Like That

by Excellency



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Loss of Parent(s), Minor Character Death, No Plot/Plotless, Smarm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 20:06:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7815313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Excellency/pseuds/Excellency
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somebody I knew had written a story where Peter's dad got killed. I wanted in on the parental unit offing gig because it can lead to goo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Like That

Peter lay in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the unfamiliar home around him and thinking about mortality. Downstairs, Ray and Winston were sharing the largish bed that folded out of the sofa and Egon was sleeping in the other bedroom on the second floor, the one that had belonged to his mother. When they'd arrived four days ago the psychologist had offered to double up in the guest room even though the bed was a rather narrow double, but Egon had decided there was no logical reason why they shouldn't both be as comfortable as the accomodations would allow and had stoically moved into the master suite. That decision was probably making these few days much harder for him than they might have been otherwise, but the habitually calm physicist had been maintaining his characteristic decorum despite all the stress. At least, Peter reflected, Egon had had the sense to bring his support system along with him when he came to close out his mother's estate and affairs. Not that he'd had any choice once Janine's reaction to the telegram had forced him to let them all know what had happened and where he was going.

The first couple days had been a mindless whirlwind of visiting relatives, written and telephoned condolences, and rushed decision making. The Ohio contingent had made things even more tense for a day with their not-so-thinly veiled hopes that Egon would finally take more of an interest in Spengler business concerns, although at least Cyrus was supportive of Egon's choices rather than blindly following the family party line. Peter had been glad to usher the last of them into a cab to the airport the day after the funeral. Now all that was left was the packing and sorting, emptying the small upstate house of memories and furniture so it could be sold. Sometimes even to Peter it looked like they were trying to erase her life by putting it in boxes and sending it to storage where it wouldn't be in the way of the living. 

Sighing, he turned restlessly, dragging at the covers. The experience was pure hell for Egon, they knew him well enough to see it in the tired way he looked and hear it in the occasional roughening catches of his voice, although to anyone else he appeared in complete control of himself. All the concentration on the work necessary after her unexpected passing also brought back a lot of intensely painful memories for Peter, dredging up thoughts of his own mother's death not so many months ago and reminding him of the loss he had suffered in a similarly unanticipated manner. He knew he hadn't been entirely successful in keeping that to himself, he'd seen the looks the others exchanged when he spent too long silently packing boxes or helping Egon sort papers. 

On the whole, it was a disturbing experience on several levels for them all. They had all known and liked Egon's mother; she had practically adopted her son's friends and cared for them with the same caustic, gentle tyranny she exercised over her own offspring. Ray remembered his own parents' loss and Winston was given an unwanted glimpse into his own inevitable future. Seeing what her death did to Egon hurt them vicariously too, because they could all see how deeply he had been affected yet they were helpless to ease his grief. While it was clear he appreciated their presence, he had not asked them for any more than that, remaining slightly withdrawn in a shell of composure that was way too brittle around the edges to be convincing. On the whole they were an abnormally subdued and depressed group, and Peter wondered every now and then if their presence was really doing more for Egon than a few days of solitude to allow his grief full rein would have. 

Still awake despite the late hour, he turned over again, seeking the perfectly comfortable position that would allow him to fall asleep, aware even as he squirmed around that his agitated emotions were the culprit keeping him conscious rather than any physical discomfort. Although the house grew somewhat cool at night when the timer shut the furnace off, a fluffy down comforter kept him toasty warm and the bed was not so different from his own that he could blame it for his wakefulness. In the silence that prevailed in the hours after midnight, noise from any other part of the house was audible and he tried to lull his mind into slowing down by deliberately ignoring the babble of his thoughts and concentrating on the few sounds that came faintly to his ears. 

There was an old grandfather clock downstairs near the base of the stairs, he made out its steady tick-tock first. The sudden short whir of one of its weights dropping inside while it bonged twice startled him, and when the last bit of sound from the chime had died he heard Ray's interrupted snoring slowly resume in synch with the undisturbed rhythm of Winston's. Turning his attention away from the clock, he listened for the reassuring sound of Egon's sleep that should have been clear from across the hall. Uneasily he realized it ought to have been loud enough he should not have heard Ray downstairs so easily, and he concentrated harder. He knew Egon's snoring as well as he knew the waking tones of the physicist's deep voice, and the uneven, muffled sound coming from the direction of his room was nothing at all like the peaceful breathing of sleep. It was, instead, the suppressed, ragged sobbing of a man alone in the middle of the night trying to hide the depths of his misery. 

Throwing aside the covers, he got out of the warm nest, the hardwood floor cold on his bare feet. Padding silently into the hallway, he stopped to confirm what he'd heard, then moved as quietly as a shadow the rest of the way across the hall to the threshold of the room Egon occupied. Peter paused briefly in the doorway, not sure he would be welcome if he ignored the effort at privacy and intruded, until he remembered how he had clung to Egon's support in the aftermath of his own mother's death. He had tried so hard to deny that breakdown, fighting against it for weeks until circumstances conspired to force him to face his feelings. Egon had been there for him, holding him, giving him understanding and absolution when he needed it the most. After mourning his mother alone and in the haven of his friend's arms he knew very well which was easier to bear, and he didn't hesitate any longer. 

It was quite dark, the only light in the room coming from the nightlight in the hallway. Peter's eyes were adjusted to the darkness, however, and he could see Egon laying curled on his side in the center of the spacious bed, the covers thrown aside as if he hoped the cold air could somehow cleanse him of his unhappiness as it stripped the warmth from his body. The windows radiated a chilly draft even though they were closed and Peter shivered, then abandoned the last of his reticence and slid onto the bed. While Egon could not have failed to notice the new presence, he either guessed who it had to be or was too depressed to care for he did not turn or attempt to still his crying to speak. Even so, Peter whispered, "It's me," as he shifted closer and began to settle down behind him. 

Reaching down, Peter pulled the discarded covers back up and settled them back in place, keeping enough of a hold on them that when he had wrapped his own body around the chilled physicist's back he was able to pull the comforter nearly to their ears. With one arm draped over the top of Egon's side, nearly circling his unevenly heaving ribcage, and the other threaded carefully under the pillow until he clasped one of Egon's hands in front of him, he simply held on. There were no explanations needed, they both had suffered the same loss and neither Egon's grief nor Peter's right to be there for him were open to question. Shaken by the sobs that wracked his friend, Peter remained plastered against him, imparting warmth to the chilled body and what solace he could to the sorrowing heart. 

The worst eventually ran its course and Egon lay wrung out and quiet for a longer time. His tight hold on Peter's hand remained, the only outward indication of his awareness of another presence keeping him company. Occasional shudders still wracked him periodically and the wretched way his body curled inward on himself made his weight seem a fragile burden laying strengthless in the sheltering arms that had come to find him. It was some time before he finally released Peter's hand and straightened slightly, though his back did not arch away from warm contact with Peter. 

Peter briefly hugged him tighter before loosening his hold and gently chafing a little additional heat into the upper arm under his touch, still slightly cool from being outside the covers. "You'll get better at it," he murmured sadly. "It always hurts but you get better at living with it." 

"Gnngngghg," Egon sighed in agreement before pulling himself away from Peter to reach for a tissue from the box at the bedside. Once his sinuses were functional again he rolled back into place, content to settle against the warm bulwark Peter provided. "Her perfume's on the blankets," he said in apparent non sequitur, a small choked sound halfway to a sob escaping him, but Peter understood perfectly. 

"It's the little unexpected things that get you," he concurred in soft tones. "Last Sunday I totally lost it when I came across a shirt in the closet Mom had ironed for me the last time she was over." He stretched out and lay more at ease along the length of Egon's body, re-establishing his earlier hold around him although not nearly so tightly. While it wasn't something he had planned on, Peter was willing to remain snuggled closely together with his best friend for as long as that friend needed to get back on his emotional feet. It felt natural and safe and a tiny part of his mind stood back nodding in understanding of the need to affirm his ties to the living in the face of the death of someone close. 

Egon's willingness to accept the comfort of such contact was a rare show of total vulnerability on his part, and recognizing the trust that went with it brought a tight knot into Peter's throat. On those incredibly infrequent occasions when a truce was called in all the games they played and the masks they wore daily for fun and sanity's sake were put aside, he rediscovered each time how much he loved this man and was awed to find the same great affection returned with equal power. This time, mingled with the soul-deep joy of that rediscovery came the cold trickle of fear, a premonition of how he would feel when this friendship too was gone the way Egon's mother and his own were gone. "If you ever die," Peter finished his thought aloud, though his whisper trembled, "I think I will cry every time I see a PKE meter." 

At that admission a tremor ran through Egon, a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill just departed from his flesh. Twisting out of Peter's embrace, he rolled over to face him and there was a moment or two of confusion before they settled again in sudden peace, Egon's long arms wrapped securely around Peter. For long minutes they held each other in silence, their breathing easing back from the edge of unevenness as the surety of physical contact worked at banishing the foreboding of loss. No words could hold fate at bay nor make it more acceptable when the time of being left behind finally came for one of them, so they did not waste effort on unfullfillable promises, futile wishes, or empty reassurances. All they could give was the knowledge that for the time they had together in this life they would be there for each other, willing to give anything for the love that lay between them. 

When at last the final dregs of fear had been driven away by the touch of life too close and real to allow doubt, Egon loosened his hold. "Thank you," he sighed, and those two words conveyed an infinite gratitude for everything he and Peter meant to each other as well as their ability to share those feelings openly when it was needed. 

"For what?" Peter asked gently. However badly Egon had needed an affirmation of their relationship to counter his despair, Peter found he had required it just as much for an antidote to the despondency that had been settling within himself. "We're friends, remember?" They didn't have any new answers to the worries the future held for them both, only the same old reliance on luck and commitment, but it was going to have to be enough. For now, nestled in their warm haven of freely given comfort, it was. 

Pulling his one arm out from under Egon before it went completely to sleep, Peter briefly considered heading back to his own room. By now his abandoned bed would have chilled back to room temperature and would take at least half an hour to warm up to the point where he could fall asleep again. The prospect was nowhere near as inviting as simply rolling over and fitting his back into the curve of Egon's body, to spend the few hours left until morning with a welcome and accomodating heat source. Never one to spend a lot of time agonizing over whether to take the more enjoyable of two available options, he effortlessly discarded the idea of leaving and proceeded to scrunch around until he was laying on his side, back pressed to Egon's front. 

"There is one other teensy little thing..." he mumbled as Egon's arm came around him in the only reasonable resting position. 

"Hmmmm?" The rumbled interogative was barely half-conscious, the faint breath that accompanied it tickling the back of his neck. 

"Can we go to sleep now?" 

A deep, sleepy chuckle and faint tightening of the arm around his ribs answered him, and a moment later the first rising snore sounded behind him. Smiling to himself, Peter tucked the covers firmly around his own ears, wriggled his back against Egon until he was perfectly comfortable, and followed his friend into sleep.


End file.
